


a (most dreadfully) involuntary sin

by mardia



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-03
Updated: 2006-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jealousy is the most dreadfully involuntary of all sins." Five times Diana was almost jealous of Anne, and how she got over it. Quote from Iris Murdoch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a (most dreadfully) involuntary sin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to kmousie for betaing this story.
> 
> Written for Ruedifference

 

 

1.

Diana fought it as hard as she could, but there were times when she was just a little envious of Anne, but only sometimes. Take Gilbert Blythe. The most handsome boy in the school, all the girls simply mad about him--and Diana had no compunctions about admitting to herself at least, that she was one of those girls--and he was just clean gone on Anne, who wouldn't look at him twice.

 _Diana_ would look twice, but Gilbert only had eyes for Anne right now, and Diana could accept that. She even felt a slight thrill for her friend, but another part of her wondered just why she couldn't be the one to catch Gilbert's eye. In a daydream or two, Diana imagined a young man (who strangely resembled the aforementioned Blythe) falling madly in love with a grown-up, more slender version of herself, and Anne enthusiastically giving them her blessing.

Diana would always snap out of those daydreams with a little laugh at herself, unable to completely let go of reality for the fantasy's sake. There was no reason, in her opinion, to imagine things that couldn't possibly happen, no matter what Anne said. It was one thing to dream of a world where fairies and dryads existed, another to imagine a world where--

Oh, she wouldn't think of it. The world Diana lived in was good enough for her, with Anne as her bosom friend. Diana had had chums before, to be sure, but never had anyone been as close or as dear as Anne, who had seemed to open up dazzling possibilities with her entrance into Avonlea. So what if Gilbert Blythe had eyes for no one but Anne? Diana decided to take this in stride, and soon enough she'd forgotten all about her slight fancy for Gilbert Blythe, and was able to look at the rivalry between Anne and Gilbert with wry amusement.

All the while rooting for Anne to win, of course.

2.

There were times when Diana almost wished that mirrors were outlawed throughout Avonlea. No, that was an exaggeration, but it was hard sometimes to stand in a mirror next to Anne. Her friend was just so slender and graceful; when Diana was standing next to her she felt like nothing more than a podgy dumpling. In a few decades, Diana thought rebelliously, she'd look just like her mother, grey hair, wrinkles, and no figure to speak of.

Anne however...somehow, Diana could never picture her friend growing old. Surely Anne would stay as young and vibrant and slender as ever. Diana had tried a few times to picture her friend getting older and could never manage. She didn't know whether it was because her imagination was lacking or because there were simply some things beyond imagination.

There was nothing wrong with Diana's imagination when it came to herself however. Sometimes, to stop herself from taking that last cookie, she'd imagine her waist expanding and expanding until she turned into one great round sphere with a face and hair and--oh! she could hardly bear to think of it.

Yes, there were times when it was hard not to feel a _little_ bit envious of Anne, but that wasn't right, for Anne couldn't help being slender anymore than Diana could help having black hair. But there it was, no matter how much Diana didn't want to feel it, there it was, that nasty horrible feeling pricking at her. Diana tried to exorcise this feeling by commenting to Anne, lightly, that she wished they were more alike--and it did help, but not enough.

Eventually, Diana resigned herself to it. The twinges of envy never infringed on her feelings for Anne, so Diana made up her mind to bear it as best as she could. And then Fred came along, with his jolly laugh and twinkling eyes, and his awkward, stammering compliments about how she was the loveliest girl in the world.

Diana wasn't, of course, but Fred made her feel it, because he believed it so thoroughly. And Diana learned to be happy with that, with Fred's vision of her, because if Fred believed it, well, that was good enough for her.

And the day he proposed, Diana wouldn't have traded her life for anybody's at that moment. She wouldn't have wanted to be anyone else, not Anne, not a countess in some romantic tale, not anyone. She was Fred Wright's fiancé, and that was just fine with Diana.

More than just fine...it was perfect.

3.

"I won't hear of it," Diana's father said firmly, after Miss Stacy had already left. "No daughter of mine will go out and work for her living."

And that was that. Diana accepted it with as much grace as she could, but she had been hoping--it would have been so lovely, to go on and attend Queen's with the rest of her friends. Diana wasn't sure if she would have made a good teacher, or if she would have liked it, but she wanted the _chance_ at least, the opportunity to try.

But it wasn't meant to be.

Diana felt a little foolish, but she hadn't realized, not until Anne had come to her with the jubilant news that Marilla and Matthew had consented for her to be a part of the Queen's class, that this meant that Anne and she would be separated for the first time, that Anne would go forward, while Diana stayed behind. And so it was, Anne going on to Redmond and Summerside and Glen St. Mary's and Europe and so on...while Diana stayed behind in Avonlea.

Sometimes, while getting a letter from London or Paris or Greece, Diana sighed, and felt like nothing more than that silly little girl who got drunk from currant wine, thinking it raspberry cordial.

But then her children would do their chores without reminding, or would bring home a treasure in their pockets--a pretty rock, mayflowers clutched in their hands--and Fred would kiss her on the cheek and call her darling. Sometimes, it didn't even take that, all it took was Diana walking in their old Lovers' Lane, taking a deep breath and remembering walking along that same path with Anne in the old days.

Deep down, Diana knew, had always known she'd stay in Avonlea her entire life. More than that, she knew she wanted to stay, wanted her roots in Avonlea.

This was where she belonged, and it was where she would stay.

4.

"Aunt Anne, have I told you about the ghosts that haunt the trees at the school?"

Diana watched Anne play with her namesake and smiled ruefully. Sometimes Diana almost wondered if the stork had dropped the baby off at the wrong house, because Small Anne Cordelia took after Anne more than Diana thought possible. The two of them seemed to share a common language and world that Diana...couldn't, and it would be a lie to say that it didn't...sting just a little bit. Diana had never liked feeling left out.

Oh, she knew she was being ridiculous, and there was no reason to doubt her daughter's love, but emotions were unmanageable, and Diana couldn't help it; no matter how ridiculous it was, she felt it anyway.

Diana refused to let it spoil the visit though, and they had a lovely time. Later that night, Diana was walking past Anne Cordelia's room and heard--

"And please God, bless Papa and baby Jack and Aunt Anne and Grandpa and Grandma and just about everyone, but especially Mama, because she put bows on my dress when I asked and makes the best cookies ever, much better than Ellie Andrews' mama."

Diana smothered her laugh, and decided to put three cookies in Anne Cordelia's lunchpail tomorrow. And the next day, she did just that, giving her daughter an extra kiss as well, even though Anne Cordelia didn't know why.

5.

 _Dearest Diana,_ Anne's letter began, _It seems as though the entire world has gone mad. Perhaps I shouldn't be starting my letter so, but that's really the only thing that comes to mind. My Jem...my darling Little Jem, has enlisted. He is a solider in the army. How strange those sentences look. It's hard enough to think it, harder to actually say it, but to see it written out in plain black ink is a much different thing altogether..._

Diana folded the letter up carefully, her hands shaking ever so slightly. She didn't pretend to understand the politics of this war, and she'd always been one to keep her faith in the government and trust that things were all right, but that was much more difficult to do when her son was coming home for dinner dressed in the khaki of a solider.

And now Anne's letter had come, and all Diana could feel towards her friend wasn't compassion, wasn't shared grief, it was...anger.

Yes, anger. It was mad, but there it was. Diana felt nothing more than sheer, unrelenting anger and envy. What right...what right did Anne have to complain, when she had two more sons to keep at home, keep safe? What right did she have, when all Diana had was Fred and Jack and Anne Cordelia, who was married with her own children, and not at home? Anne had six children, Diana only two, and it was not right, not fair that Anne should compare her situation to Diana's.

_Gilbert feels it dreadfully too, of course, but it's so much more different for us mothers, you know, Diana, you must know._

Oh, Diana knew. She knew the nightmares that kept her wide awake at night, for apparently Diana's imagination had no limits when it came to picturing her son at war. She knew the panic that she had to fight back all the time, because she ought to be proud of Jack, proud of his courage, proud that he was willing to fight for his country.

But all Diana could be right now was _afraid._

And with that thought, it was as if a switch had gone off in Diana's mind, and all her anger against her old friend faded like the mist before the sun. They were kindred spirits more than ever, bound by their common fear and love, and Anne having three sons meant she had more sons to lose, more sons that would appear at dinner one day wearing khaki.

Diana felt a few tears pricking at her eyes, but she would not let them fall. Instead, she went to her desk, to write a reply.

 _Dear Anne,_ her letter started, _I know just how you feel, for Jack enlisted a few weeks ago, and I can't tell you how deathly afraid I am for him..._

 

 

 


End file.
